


Embrace the Chaos, Kiss the Devil

by eeyore9990



Series: 30 Thankful Days [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (less love and more fuck buddies), Biting, Bottom Peter Hale, Dark Stiles, M/M, Pain Kink, Peter is his own warning, Psychopaths In Love, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even if they saw it, no one would believe it.  It’ll probably – inevitably – be Peter’s downfall.  <i>But what a way to go. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Embrace the Chaos, Kiss the Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weebleroxanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weebleroxanne/gifts).



> 30 Thankful Days, Day 6: Gift for weebleroxanne

Peter was standing at the counter pouring water into a pot filled with loose tea when arms came around him, caging him in. Quirking one eyebrow, he continued his task, voice pitched low when he warned, “Are you sure you want to do this _now_?”

“No,” Stiles huffed, grinding his hips into Peter’s ass and sinking his teeth into the side of his neck, “I don’t _want_ to do this now. But you’re walking around wearing this slutty shirt, showing your tits to everyone, basically asking for it.” 

“Slut shaming, Stiles? Tut tut.” Peter ducked away from Stiles’ teeth, grip tightening on the handle of the kettle as he carefully placed it back on the stove top. Pushing backward to give himself some space, he turned and let his eyes flare blue, lifting his chin aggressively. “What would your little friends think if they could see you, hmm?” 

Stiles pressed forward again, grin so sharp and wicked it sent a thrill of arousal through Peter. “Why should _I_ care? They’re not going to see the two of us together like this and blame _me_. They’ll see the big, bad, psycho zombie wolf and the poor, uncoordinated, virginal human.” 

“How is it,” Peter asked through too-sharp teeth, “that your friends have never seen this side of you? How do they not know what lies behind those wide eyes?” Bracing his hands on the counter behind him, Peter rolled his hips, holding Stiles’ challenging gaze. 

“Because I’m smarter than you,” Stiles sneered, hands reaching up and gripping both sides of the vee of Peter’s shirt and yanking until it ripped a few inches down the middle, flopping loose and ruined. Ducking his head, Stiles zeroed in on Peter’s nipples, snapping his teeth around one and twisting the other in cruel fingers. 

Peter’s head dropped back, thunking against the cabinet behind him. The coppery scent of blood hit his nostrils, underscoring the sharp ache in his chest. Instead of making him flinch away though, he groaned and arched his back, pushing into the pain. “Look at me,” he growled, lifting his head to look down at Stiles. “Let me _see_ you.” He was snarling now, his voice dangerously loud in the quiet of the kitchen. 

Stiles lifted his head, smiling with lips and teeth painted ruby with Peter’s blood. Eyes locked on Peter’s, Stiles opened his mouth and let his tongue snake out, the tip digging into the ragged places where his teeth had broken through Peter’s skin. 

Peter whined loudly, claw-tipped fingers grabbing fistfuls of Stiles’ hair to hold him where he was. The pain was too delicious to let go so soon. Slowly, so slowly, Stiles sank to his knees, opening his mouth over the front of Peter’s jeans, wiping the blood on his lips into the dark denim as he sucked at him through the thick cloth. 

A drop of blood rolled down Peter’s chest even as he felt the skin finish knitting itself back together. It left a red streak against perfectly smooth, tanned skin. As much an incongruity as the boy kneeling at his feet. 

Peter wanted to believe he was in control of this situation, of this whole nasty little relationship he’d somehow found himself in the middle of with the barely legal son of the town _sheriff_. But the more he tried to convince himself of that, the more that voice in the back of his head – the one that spoke in Stiles’ voice – laughed at him. 

He hadn’t been in control since the day he’d manipulated a young girl into resurrecting him. 

But control was overrated anyway. If this was chaos, he embraced it. 

Stiles grabbed at the waistband of Peter’s jeans, fingers curling underneath in a tight grip that he used as leverage to slither up Peter’s body, biting roughly up the midline of his stomach and chest until his teeth were leaving marks on Peter’s throat. “I want to fuck you.” 

The words were breathed against his skin but Peter heard them as clearly as if the boy had shouted. He shuddered against Stiles, rolling his chin down, trying to get his mouth on some part of him. 

But Stiles evaded his mouth, laughing breathlessly. “I want to bend you over this counter and eat you out. I want to get you wet with my spit and open you on my tongue until I can fuck you raw. And you’ll let me.” It was neither a question or an order; it was a statement of fact. “It’s what you wanted, what you _hoped for_ when you showed up to the pack meeting looking like this. Like the devil’s wet dream.” 

“Does that,” Peter moaned, a shade too loud, when Stiles sucked on his adam’s apple. “Does that make you the devil?” 

Stiles straightened until his face was level with Peter’s. His clever fingers slid inside the open crotch of Peter’s jeans, cupping the hard length of Peter’s dick. And then, with his thumbnail digging into Peter’s slit, making his back bow with pain-fuelled pleasure, Stiles let his expression smooth out until he was wearing the blushing face of innocence he showed the rest of the world. 

“That’s hurtful, Peter. I’m _horrified_ that you could think such a thing.” He jerked his wrist viciously to the side, forcing Peter to turn or risk having his dick ripped off. 

Sadly, it didn’t do a thing to quell Peter’s desire for the brat. 

Stiles kept jerking and tugging until Peter was once more facing his oversteeped tea, curls of steam bringing the bitter scent to his sensitive nostrils. Dashing the pot to the side, Peter stretched out over the counter, folding his arms under his head to protect it from the hard granite. 

“Are you trying to get the pack in here?” Stiles hissed, roughly yanking Peter’s jeans down to his thighs as the clashing sound of porcelain against stone rang through the kitchen. “Do you want Derek to see you like this? Bent over for a nobody little human? Do you want him to stand over there, watching you hold your ass up high like a bitch in heat, begging for a cock to fill you up?” 

Peter swallowed, his throat working with difficulty as his mouth went dry. Because he could imagine it. Derek. Isaac. Scott. 

Malia. 

He could imagine them all, standing back, eyes flashing with heat and hunger as Stiles took him, claimed him. 

The needy whine that burst from him just happened to coincide with Stiles’ tongue laving wetly over his rim. A wave of gratitude rose with the burning ache of arousal, because Stiles’ perfect timing gave him plausible deniability. He could continue to believe his fantasies were locked away safe in the recesses of his mind for one more night. 

Stiles held nothing back; when he’d threatened to eat Peter out, he’d meant it in every respect. He used teeth as well as tongue, biting and slurping nastily, humming softly in pleasure. His fingers weren’t gentle as they grasped at Peter, yanking his cheeks apart, spearing into his hole to dig further than his tongue could reach. He used too much spit, made it too sloppy, but Peter knew he’d thank the evil child later. 

When Stiles finally pulled back, Peter had lost the ability to mute himself. Or perhaps he’s lost the vague sensibility that told him he should. The choked noises of pleasure he made were only muffled by the counter under his face. It wasn’t enough, of course. Not with a houseful of enhanced senses. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, whispering the word into Peter’s ear, making him wonder when he’d started losing time that Stiles could be standing again, could be sliding his spit-slick, naked cock between Peter’s thighs without Peter realizing he’d even moved. 

But he couldn’t be too hard on himself. After all, Stiles’ fingers were still working inside him, the skinny appendages with their swollen, knobby knuckles brushing every part of him exactly right. The ragged nails hurting him in all the best ways. 

“They can hear you,” Stiles murmured. “Hear you begging for it. Hear how you whine and whimper like a little _puppy._ ” Stiles lined up, forcing his way inside Peter’s body and ripping a harsh noise from them both. “They know. But they don’t believe. They could come in right now,” Stiles snapped his hips, jackrabbit quick, not even pretending to care for Peter’s pleasure, “and see us like this. See how I own your ass. And they’d still blame you. They’d kill you for this. They’d rip your throat out.” Teeth sank into the back of his neck as soon as that last threat rushed from Stiles’ lips. And Peter… 

Peter came so hard he bit through the tip of his tongue. 


End file.
